


The Best Type of Character Analysis

by Fire_Fox_0111



Category: A Streetcar Named Desire - Tennessee Williams, Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fandom crossover, Gryffindor, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Other, Ravenclaw, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22301083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Fox_0111/pseuds/Fire_Fox_0111
Summary: When I was revising for my English Literature exams, I liked to imagine what Hogwarts house each character in our set texts would be Sorted into, and why. So I thought I’d make a fanfic out of it!
Relationships: Daisy/Gatsby (implied), Daisy/Tom (implied), George/Myrtle, Nick/Daisy (Platonic/cousins), Nick/Jordan (implied), Stanley/Blanche, Steve/Eunice, Tom/Myrtle (implied)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. The Great Gatsby

We were young, and careless, back then. Seven whole years at Hogwarts glittered before our eyes, so close we could almost reach out and touch them. But first came that all-determining event - that exposition of ourselves, which would lay down the foundations of the road that was to drive us through those life-affirming years of our lives.

Professor McGonagall led us into the hall. Twenty dozen pairs of eyes swivelled in unison in our direction. Beside me, my second-cousin-once-removed Daisy - the only person in the whole place whom I knew - turned and whispered to me in that thrilling, melodious voice of hers. 

“These things do excite me _so,_ ” she murmured. “Look at that boy there - the one with the great black boots on. Doesn’t he just remind you of some - some archduke from somewhere?”

I had no time to reply, for we were ushered to the front of the hall and greeted by the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, a bespectacled man with long white hair and an even longer white beard who looked as though he had been at Hogwarts since the beginning of time. I don’t recall what that greeting entailed; all I remember is that immediately afterwards, the Sorting Ceremony commenced.

McGonagall surveyed her list of names. “Baker, Jordan!”

A slender, golden-haired girl emerged from the flock of first-years. I watched her with interest as she walked, her posture upright and her chin tilted upwards slightly like a young army cadet. At the chair she turned abruptly and sat with such immediate casualness that I was almost startled by the contrast - she might as well have been sitting in the chair of a café on the French Riviera. A battered brown hat that had evidently seen better days was lowered onto her head.

”Hmm,” the hat began. “Very shrewd, very _cunning_... wouldn’t make a bad Slytherin, but... I don’t sense much ambition, too wise, eh, too aim too high...a sound logical mind, I see... all right... RAVENCLAW!”

A smattering of applause rose up from the tables. The girl - Jordan - stood up with a series of rapid, deft movements and glimmered slenderly over to join her fellows in blue.   
  
“Buchanan, Thomas!”

Daisy’s archduke pushed his way somewhat aggressively to the front. He was a sturdy, straw-haired boy, powerfully built, with a touch of contempt on his supercilious face. “Ah,” said the hat, “a boy who values purity, I see... perhaps more so than honesty...” The boy’s face tightened a little. “Hmm... bold, too, though... but is courage truly what you value? And if I may say so, I do detect a certain tendency to... bend the truth...”

Again, the tightening of the face. “Well,” the hat mused, “I suppose it has to be SLYTHERIN!”

Thomas Buchanan swaggered his way to the far table, head buoyed up by the sound of whistles and cheers. I felt certain that Slytherin’s Quidditch Team had just earned themselves a new Beater.

I had hoped that there might be a few more “B”s before my name was called, but no such luck. “Carraway, Nicholas!” 

Cringing at the unshortening of my name, I sat down and allowed the hat to be placed upon my head. I had always fancied myself an intellectual. I could see myself now, sat beside Jordan Baker on the Ravenclaw table... Or Hufflepuff, perhaps. If character is based on one’s virtues, then mine would be based on the fact that I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

“Mmm. Ahhh. I see. You esteem yourself _honest,_ do you?” I presumed the question was rhetorical. “Well, you are fairly hard-working... reasonably loyal... which is more than can be said for most... unusually perceptive, too, though, and not unwise... but what do you value in others? Honesty, or wisdom?”

In all fairness, dishonesty was not something I blamed deeply in others in those days, nor was folly. This did not help in the slightest; it seemed that the hat was experiencing the same blue-yellow colour blindness as I was. Nonetheless, it was with assertion that it eventually cried, “HUFFLEPUFF!” 

I have to admit I wasn’t surprised. Others have told me that I am wise, sensible even - but, looking back, I see that a wise person would not have allied themselves so closely with the people I did, with people like Gatsby. Only a Hufflepuff would do that.

And so the list of names went on. After “Civet, Webster!” and “Endive, Clarence!” came “Fay, Daisy!”; with the lamp-light shining on her raven-blue hair, my cousin ascended elegantly to the chair and sat down with all the graceful languor of a pedigree cat.

At this moment I noticed a boy, just to the right of me, watching her intently. There was an expression of rapt fascination on his face, as though some surreal and wondrous spectacle was being played out before his eyes; I could have sworn he was trembling slightly.

I glanced back at Daisy again. The hat appeared to be having some difficulty. “Now, what qualities... what values... which house would suit you, I wonder?” 

This, I thought, was a good question. “Qualities” and “values”, courage and intelligence, loyalty and ambition; none of these appeared to suit the girl on the chair, who, as far as I could tell, was as exquisitely hollow as a porcelain doll. If I could offer her character one commendation, I suppose it would be that she knew how to please others: to entice, to thrill, to elicit admiration. Perhaps that was why, after a long pause, the hat eventually cried, “SLYTHERIN!”

Daisy rose, her face lit by a bright ecstatic smile, and sauntered across the hall to sit beside the Buchanan boy. Professor McGonagall was squinting at her list with a look a faint puzzlement, as though she had come across the name of somebody she had not expected. “Gatsby, Jay?”

I was surprised by the rapidity of the movement from my right. My neighbour, then, was Jay Gatsby - an elegant young rogue, attractively tanned, with a quality of restless, sporadic eagerness about his movements and behaviour. Even as he sat in the chair there was the tapping of a foot, the impatient opening and closing of a hand. “Interesting...” mused the hat. “Loyal, dedicated, hardworking... all the qualities of a true Hufflepuff... yet there’s ambition there, profound ambition... and a definite sense of cunning too...”

Gatsby glanced anxiously at the far table, where Daisy was talking animatedly to the boy beside her. I could see his lips forming the words “ _Slytherin, Slytherin,_ ” over and over again. “Very well,” the hat said. “If you’re sure... better be SLYTHERIN!”

The boy stood up and smiled gratefully - much more than gratefully. He literally glowed with exultation as he found his way onto the nearest space on the Slytherin bench, some five or six places away from Daisy. I suspected a fondness for green and silver was not the only reason for eagerness to join those serpentine ranks.

After Gatsby came “Klipspringer, Ewing!”; “McKee, Chester!”; “Michaelis, Mavro!”; followed by a Finnish girl whose name I will not attempt to spell, and several others whose names I have since forgotten. I was aware that my stomach was beginning to rumble. By this point there were only three students left: two boys - one blond and anaemic, the other short and broad-nosed - and a girl, faintly stout, with that air of sassy superiority which some girls have at that age. It was the girl whom McGonagall called first. “Smolders, Myrtle!”

Myrtle sashayed up to the front. There was an immediately perceptible vitality about her, radiating from her body like warm smoke; her school skirt, being just wide enough for her hips, was nonetheless too short for her legs. I noticed the pale boy smile at her weakly - a smile she did not return.

” _Ah,_ ” the hat remarked knowingly. “Ambitious... duplicitous... self-confident... I know just where to put _you.”_ It paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “SLYTHERIN!”

With an air of faintly ludicrous hauteur, Myrtle flounced her way over to the bench where she squashed herself promptly between Thomas Buchanan and my cousin. The bench was getting crowded now; his arm pressed against her side as she turned towards him, laughing. By this point Daisy had removed a small silver comb from her pocket and was brushing her hair somewhat distractedly. I don’t believe she paid any attention to the penultimate student - “Wilson, George!” - as he nervously set himself down.

George was a worn-out-looking boy in a worn-out-looking set of robes; the ruddy glow of the lamps lent no gleam of colour to his wan, ashen face. Only his eyes glinted faintly with a dim hope, perhaps, of joining that little circle that was forming over on the Slytherin table. But the hat, it seemed, had already made up its mind. “Hard-working, faithful, trusting, honest... Of course, it has to be HUFFLEPUFF!”

And so I was joined by George Wilson - or not _joined_ exactly, for there was no longer any space at my side of the table. So Wilson was forced to perch on the end of the far bench whilst the final boy, “Wolfsheim, Meyer!” was Sorted into Slytherin. 

I couldn’t help but notice how crowded the Slytherin bench was looking by this point - and, by contrast, how sparsely populated were the Gryffindors. Did we all possess some common deficiency, some defectiveness which left us lacking in courage and valor? But my thoughts were swiftly blown away by the prospect of the magic and excitement that was, surely, soon to come. And so with the candlelight and the ceiling of stars glittering above me, I had that now-familiar conviction that life was beginning all over again at Hogwarts.


	2. A Streetcar Named Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, this time with the characters from Streetcar. 
> 
> I know it doesn’t make much sense that Stella and Blanche are both first-years, given the significance of Blanche being about five years older, but... let’s just assume they’re twins or something...

_The entrance to the Great Hall at Hogwarts Castle, to which the ornately carved doors of dark wood - apparently varnished but now somewhat weathered and faded with age - are closed. These doors are framed by a grey stone archway, consisting of four concentric pillared arches flanked on either side by an alcove in which a carved stone knight, half in shadow, can be seen. The lighting is of a dim, yet unusually rich, bluish colour, in contrast to which the blaze of warm light upon the doors themselves creates an air of momentousness and invests this doorway to the unknown with a profound significance. In front of the door a_ _group of students, all around eleven years of age, begin to gather as a woman in a dark green floor-length cloak and corresponding hat - such as might be expected for a witch with a formal and traditional air about her - leads them onstage. The woman is PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL, deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts. The murmuration of the students expresses their excitement, anxiety and overwhelming awe; you can almost feel it radiating from them with all the fervour of youth.  
_

_Amongst this group of students, at the edge of the radiant beam of light upon the door, stands BLANCHE. Her appearance contrasts notably with that of her fellow students: though she wears the same black hooded cloak, her hair is elaborately coiffed and held by pins adorned with large, white, diamond-centred flowers. Her earrings and shoes are pearly white - as is the large rounded clutch she carries - and the cloak she wears draped elegantly about her body, secured with a white floral brooch to match the hairpins. Her posture is very upright, very stiff, with her shoulders bunched and her hands tightly clutching her bag and her legs pressed close together in a vain attempt to stop them from shaking. Beside her is STELLA, a gentle and mild-mannered girl whose emotional state is clearly quite different from her sister’s._

STELLA: Blanche?

BLANCHE: [ _tapping her foot and staring at a point just above the door_ ] Yes, Stella?

STELLA: Are you all right? You seem a little - nervous...

BLANCHE: [ _anxiously_ ] Oh - haha! I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. Yes, that’s right, I’m perfectly fine, I’m -

STELLA: I guess it is a little nerve-wracking.

BLANCHE: What House do you think they’ll put me in, Stella?

STELLA: I’m not sure... maybe -

BLANCHE: Oh, I do hope I’ll be in Ravenclaw. I’ve always seen myself as the - the _cultured_ type, someone with wit and learning and experience! And those things are so wonderfully Ravenclaw! “Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” you know. And blue is such a - such a _romantic_ colour, like the sky at twilight... Oh! And Shep Huntleigh - you remember Shep Huntleigh? [ _STELLA shakes her head._ ] Of course you remember Shep Huntleigh, he gave me those Puffskein furs one Christmas. Well - he’s the Ravenclaw Prefect! Soon to be Head Boy, I hope! So just imagine if I were in the same House as -

_MCGONAGALL clears her throat portentously; STELLA holds up her hand gently to quieten BLANCHE. The murmurings of the students die away._

MCGONAGALL: The Sorting Ceremony will take place momentarily in front of the whole school. I suggest you form a line and stay on your best behaviour.

_The students obey. Slowly the doors open - BLANCHE grips her sister’s hand with anxious excitement - and the whole wall slides away to reveal the interior of the Great Hall. Triumphant, orchestral music is heard. Four long tables, laid with glittering golden plates and goblets, seat the older students; at the top of the Hall sit the teachers at another table. A pointed HAT, patched and dirty, sits on a four-legged stool in front of the teachers. The whole room is lit by the flickering light of hundreds of candles suspended in midair over the tables, investing the room with a soft, magical light._

_MCGONAGALL leads the students until they are in two separate lines behind the stool, facing forwards._

BLANCHE: [ _to STELLA_ ] Look, it’s Shep Huntleigh! [ _She waves to him excitedly, then slowly stops, disappointed_ ] He can’t have seen me.

MCGONAGALL: [ _picking up a roll of parchment and stepping forwards_ ] When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.

BLANCHE: [ _clutching_ _STELLA’s arm_ ] Oh, Stella - Stella - I’m so excited I can hardly breathe!

MCGONAGALL: DuBois, Blanche!

BLANCHE: [ _almost hysterically_ ] Oh! I’m first! [ _She crosses over to the stool and sits down tremulously, arranging her skirt and cloak as she does so. MCGONAGALL places the Sorting Hat on her head as the music quietens._ ] Mind the hair!

[ _She gives a start as the HAT begins to speak. Its voice does not realistically emanate from the hat itself, but seems to resonate around the whole room._ ]

HAT: Hmm... there’s a good deal of aspiration here... a taste for purity and tradition... and not, I might venture, a great deal of honesty or morality... [ _BLANCHE is trembling, her eyes wide and staring straight ahead like a rabbit before a predator. This unsolicited exposure of her character has clearly unsettled her_.] Oh, there’s some cunning in you, no doubt about that. Yes, it has to be... **Slytherin!  
** ****

[ _The SLYTHERINS applaud; there are some wolf-whistles and, from the Gryffindor table, a couple of boos. BLANCHE crosses over to the Slytherin table and sits down with a tight, artificial smile on her drawn face._ ] ****

MCGONAGALL: DuBois, Stella!

[ _Smiling a little shyly, STELLA sits and allows the hat to be placed on her head._ ]

HAT: Aha, yes... clearly hardworking - loyal - a _great_ deal of patience... you’ll make an excellent **Hufflepuff**!

[ _Applause from the HUFFLEPUFFS as STELLA rises, beaming, and catches her sister’s eye as she approaches the table._ ]

BLANCHE: [ _clapping frenetically, her unease forgotten_ ] My baby sister!

MCGONAGALL: Gonzales, Pablo!

[ _PABLO, bearing the confidence and directness shared by almost all of the young boys, sits and takes the hat_ ]

HAT: Mmm, difficult, difficult... there’s ambition there, certainly, and confidence... perceptive, too, and wiser than some... all right... perhaps it had better be **Ravenclaw**!

PABLO: _Excelente!  
_

 _[He crosses to the Ravenclaw table, where he is met by applause and a couple of handshakes._ _BLANCHE’s expression is somewhat sour.]_

MCGONAGALL: Hubbel, Steve!

[ _The next boy to rise is equally brash and direct in his manner, if not more so. He grins as the hat is placed on his head._ ]

HAT: Now then, I think it’s clear to see what you _value_... boldness, humour, confidence... whether or not you _possess_ those things is of no matter... you’ll still do well in **Gryffindor**!

_[STEVE is met by raucous whoops and cheers from the Gryffindor table as he struts over with affected boldness]._

MCGONAGALL: Kowalski, Stanley!

[ _The triumphant music swells again, this time accompanied by the hot sound of trumpet and drums, as STANLEY crosses to the stool. He is of medium height and strongly, compactly built. A sense of power and pride is derived from his being the centre of attention, like that of a richly feathered male bird among hens. As he sits and allows himself to be crowned with the hat, he catches the eye of STELLA, who is gazing at him with rapt admiration, and tips her a massive wink. STELLA presses her knuckles to her lips in an attempt to contain the exhilarated laugh which, judging by the expression on her face, is building inside her.]_

HAT: Now then... there’s certainly a great deal of boldness... brash confidence, I might call it... you’d certainly fit in well with the Gryffindors... but oh, there’s ambition too, much ambition, a desire to hold front position, to get ahead of the pack as it were - and I’d say you possess a good deal of cunning at times... Yes, I see a boy who would pursue his goals at all costs.

STANLEY: That’s right. [ _A GRYFFINDOR laughs, then immediately shuts up as STANLEY shoots him an ominous look._ ]  
  
HAT: All in all, I think it has to be **Slytherin**!

[ _The SLYTHERINS cheer and whistle as STANLEY swaggers over to their table, at his own leisurely pace. He stops at STELLA and whispers something in her ear, to which she flushes and giggles girlishly. Then he sits down beside BLANCHE, looking her up and down as he does so. Though he has not yet crossed the border of true scopophilic desire, there is certainly some innate pleasure derived from his gaze. At this age he already sizes girls up at a glance, determining the way he smiles at them._ ]

BLANCHE: [ _drawing involuntarily back from his stare_ ] Hello. I’m Blanche.

STANLEY: So I heard. You Stella’s sister?

BLANCHE: Yes. 

STANLEY: Oh. Where you from, Blanche?

BLANCHE: Why, I - I live in Godric’s Hollow.

STANLEY: In Godric’s Hollow, huh? Never heard of it.

BLANCHE: Really? But everybody’s heard of Godric’s -

MCGONAGALL: Mitchell, Harold!

[MITCH sits on the stool somewhat awkwardly and accepts the hat. BLANCHE looks at him with a certain interest.]

HAT: Interesting... there’s some doubt in you, and sensitivity... but kindness, too... loyalty... and more empathy than most, I would venture. Of course, you’d be well suited to Hufflepuff!

[ _As the HUFFLEPUFFS applaud and MITCH rises, he catches BLANCHE’s stare. Glancing at her a little shyly, he crosses slowly to the Hufflepuff table. He realises that the hat is still on his head and, with an embarrassed laugh, jogs awkwardly back to place it on the stool. There are a few titters from the other STUDENTS as he sits down near STELLA._ ]

BLANCHE: That one seems - different to the others.

[ _MCGONAGALL is calling the next student, though her voice can no longer be heard as only STANLEY and BLANCHE are audible._ ]

STANLEY: Other whats?

BLANCHE: The other boys. I _thought_ he had a sort of sensitive look.

STANLEY: Yeah, old Mitch is sensitive all right.

BLANCHE: [ _surprised_ ] You know him?

STANLEY: Mitch is a buddy of mine. We were in the same football team together.

BLANCHE: Oh, football! How - how fascinating!

STANLEY: I don’t see you as the type to be into football.

BLANCHE: It’s a Muggle sport, isn’t it?

STANLEY: My parents are Muggles.

BLANCHE: You’re a very lucky boy then, yes you are. Very few Mudbloods have the privilege of being in Slytherin!

STANLEY: I am not a Mudblood. Kids from Muggle families are called Muggle-borns, not Mudbloods. But what I am is a wizard, and proud as hell of it, so don’t you ever call me a Mudblood.

BLANCHE: My, you’re very assertive. Of course that was the first thing I could tell about you when I saw you. You’re a sort of alpha male, defender of his territory, a little bit on the primitive side I should think. And I like a boy who paints with strong, bold colours, primary colours. So the two of us ought to get along _very_ nicely.

STANLEY: Huh.

[ _The HAT has just sorted a young coloured girl into “Gryffindor!”. The applause and wolf-whistles of the other students can now be heard._ ]

MCGONAGALL: Williams, Eunice!

[ _Another girl, white this time, sits on the chair and accepts the hat. STANLEY nods towards STEVE, sat at the Gryffindor table and eyeing Eunice with a desirous sort of hunger in his expression.]_

STANLEY: [ _amused_ ] That Steve’s got his eye on Eunice.

HAT: Now, let’s see... a bold, defiant girl, I’d say...

BLANCHE: [ _feigning naïvety_ ] Why, how can you tell?

HAT: ...but loyal, too, and kind...

STANLEY: Look at him. He’s like a dog after a rabbit.

HAT: ...and willing to stand up for her friends...

BLANCHE: [ _with faint irony_ ] I guess all the boys will be after a girl like Eunice! But you are too sensible - too superior - to fall into that category, no doubt!

STANLEY: [ _shrugging_ ] She’s not really my type.

HAT: ...yes, a fierce friend...

BLANCHE: Oh, of course not.

HAT: ...both the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs would do well to have you among them...

BLANCHE: Some boys have very particular tastes. Others will pour their heart and soul upon a girl at the slightest opportunity!

HAT: ...but that boldness in particular...

BLANCHE: I once had an admirer who spent four months’ worth of his pocket money on this floral brooch for me.

STANLEY: He must have had a lot of - admiration!

HAT: ...would suit you best in **Gryffindor**!

[ _The GRYFFINDORS cheer. STEVE shifts up to make space for EUNICE, but she sits next to the coloured girl instead._ ]

BLANCHE: [ _raising her voice_ ] Oh, I used to attract some admiration. But look at me now!

[ _The cheers die down. MCGONAGALL rolls up her parchment and removes the hat and stool.]_

BLANCHE: [ _smiling at him radiantly_ ] Would you think it possible that I was once considered to be - pretty?

STANLEY: Your looks are okay.

BLANCHE: I was fishing for a compliment, Stanley.

[ _Professor DUMBLEDORE now rises, beaming, with his arm open in a welcoming gesture._ ]

DUMBLEDORE: Welcome, students, to a new year at Hogwarts!

STANLEY: I don't go in for that stuff.

BLANCHE: What - stuff?

STANLEY: Compliments to girls about their looks.

DUMBLEDORE: Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words... [ _His voice fades out as he continues speaking._ ]

STANLEY: I never met a girl yet that didn't know if she was good-looking or not without being told, and some of them give themselves credit for more than they've got. 

BLANCHE: Why, aren’t you perceptive! 

[ _She laughs and boops him playfully on the nose._ ]

STANLEY: [ _swatting her hand away_ ] For a girl I’ve only just met, I can’t help getting funny ideas about you!

BLANCHE: Such as what?

STANLEY: Don’t play dumb. You know full well _what_.

BLANCHE: I’m sure you don’t mean to be insulting.

STANLEY: No, just realistic.

BLANCHE: I don’t want realism.

STANLEY: Nah, I guess not.

MCGONAGALL: Quiet over there, please!

BLANCHE: [ _in a loud whisper_ ] I’ll tell you what I want. Magic! [ _STANLEY laughs._ ] Yes, yes, magic.

STANLEY: Well, you’ve certainly got that now.

BLANCHE: You forget. I’ve always had magic. It’s just that now everybody else has it too.

[ _They both look up as DUMBLEDORE tings his goblet with a spoon._ ]

DUMBLEDORE: Now, let the feast begin.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. If you agree or disagree with any of the houses I’ve placed certain characters in, do comment - I’d be interested to see what you think, and you can be as critical as you like!


End file.
